Chamber
by YuriNigasa
Summary: Second Chapter Up. Faye's found herself in strange company, and it's only getting more bizzare. Is she in over her head?
1. Chapter One

This is the first time I've set pen to paper (so to speak) in six years. I don't know where the story's going or where it's been... I don't work like that and *grumbles* the characters just won't tell me where they're taking me before we get there. This starts out very slow, but I'll blame the mood music for that. I'd like honest R&R if you'd like to take the time to give it. Standard "I'm a poor, lowly, Bebop otaku/Sunrise owns it/don't sue me" applies here. 

Silicon grit and dirt crunched under the tires of the travel worn roadster as it shook to a stop, the engine protesting in its old age. The dented and rusty fender pulled up mere inches from what was, no matter how unlikely so, an old adobe building. Amazing that, even now, something like this could still stand. A slender hand reached up to wipe a trickle of sweat away from an arched eyebrow, sunglasses slung low on the bridge of the nose. It was scorching... maybe the sun had just burnt the buildings into place for eternity, turning them into indestructible stone, not mere mud-brick buildings. How else could they stand, when so much around them had fallen? 

The amount of force it took to open the rusted, aging door was only exceeded by the screech of protest let loose by its hinges. The raucous cry resounded off the buildings, making Faye Valentine wince. So much for being inconspicuous, but, then again that had never been her style. A trio of aging _vaqueros_ quit their heated, rapid fire arguing to look up and see what all the fuss was about. She swung her legs out, her feet finding little comfort in the heat that came from the packed earth and seemed to burn its way through the soles of her boots almost instantly. Mewling noises came from under the car as a fat black and white tabby brushed against her ankles and twined through her legs before wandering back to the old men. Wrinkling her nose in an attempt not to sneeze, she looked around at this place. It wasn't right to even call it a town anymore, if it had ever _been_ one to begin with. 

_"This had better be worth it_," she bristled inwardly. 

Why anyone would bother with this town, much less the entire stupid planet was beyond her. She kicked the side panel of the car and smirked in subdued glee when it left a blue centered dent in the dust covered monstrosity. 

Slowly she headed in the direction of the porch where the men sat, stationed around an old circular card table. It had once had a green felt top, but like the rest of the town, was now covered in the same neutral tones as everything else. Even the old men themselves seemed to blend in to the essence that permeated everything in this town. Head down, Faye walked into the shade of the overhang and casually pulled her sunglasses to the top of her head, pushing back sweat drenched bangs in the process. She attempted to smile in what she thought was a non-predatory manner and approached the table. Thankfully, the men's attention never seemed to focus above chest level. She leaned over, splaying her fingers across the edge of the battered tabletop. Faye could have sworn all six eyes across the table from her increased perceptibly in diameter. 

_"Dónde está Juan Raphael?"_ she asked, her voice silky but more loud than was probably necessary. Silently she hoped that they'd just point in the general direction, since she really hadn't prepared herself with more than one phrase, and wouldn't be able to understand the answer anyway. 

_"Quién desea saber?"_ came a voice unexpectedly from her left. 

_"Shit,"_ muttered Faye as she straightened herself and glanced left towards the weathered screen door. _It figured_. Crossing her fingers she replied in English. "I'm looking for Juan Raphael? My name's Faye. Faye Valentine." 

A deep chuckle carried out to the porch. "Be right with you... Faye Valentine." 

The accent wasn't as heavy as Faye expected it to be. She folded her arms across her chest, unconsciously drawing attention to just how tight the yellow fabric really was. Trying not to look disgusted, and failing miserably, she eyed the door and waited, her impatiently tapping toe stirring up little dust clouds and turning the tip of the white boot an unpolished tan. Sighing audibly, her eyes had just begun to roll upwards when the door creaked in greeting and... she forgot to breathe. He had to be at least six-foot-three, with long black hair pulled back in a ponytail that reached just how far down she didn't know. His eyes were dark as coffee, and the dust that seemed ingrained in everything around didn't seem to even have touched him. Eyeing him coolly she took in his tight white T-shirt and faded old blue jeans, following the line of his legs down to... were those _really_ snakeskin boots? Did people honestly still wear such things? 

"Miss Valentine?" That voice again, knocking her out of her reverie. "Please, follow me. Things are a bit more hospitable inside." 

Shaking her head imperceptibly to clear it, she followed him, heels of her shoes tapping staccato on the weather-beaten boards of the porch. 

Inside the building there were piles of items, glass cases, and what looked like an ancient cooler with a faded red and white logo on the side. As if this had once been a store in another life, and simply had forgotten to be what it was. It wasn't any nicer than it had been outside, and the air was stagnant and oppressive to boot. _"Unbelievable_," she thought, _"I can't believe I talked myself into this." _ A million woolong wasn't worth this much hassle. It'd been over three weeks since she had started tracking this latest bounty, and she doubted that she'd feel clean again for at least two weeks after she was done. 

Weaving in between stacks of things long since useless, they came to a door near the back. As Snakeskin Boots opened the door, Faye was hit with a rush of chill air. A breath caught in her throat as the cold soaked through her sweat drenched outfit and raised goose flesh on her arms and legs. Suddenly she missed the red jacket she had left outside. 

"In here," he beckoned to her, graciously allowing her to step in first. 

Faye eyed him warily. "Where's Raphael?" she demanded. There was _no_ _way_ she was heading into a darkened hallway with some guy who still wore _snakeskin boots_. 

He laughed, and a chalk white grin split his tanned face. "_Me disculpo_... I'm sorry. I thought you knew by the way you just followed me in here. I'm Juan Raphael," he said, holding out a strong, callused hand. 

Faye grasped his hand firmly, her annoyance at being laughed at coming out in the strength of her grip. She felt like she was squeezing hard enough to break it, but somehow he didn't even seem to notice she was even remotely upset. Those deep, dark eyes just settled on her face, his smile lighting them up as he said, "I'm pleased to meet you finally." 

_"Yeah, buddy,"_ she thought, _"The pleasure's all yours,"_ while she tilted her face to give a coy smile and murmured, "Charmed, I'm sure." 

Raphael let go of her hand and propped the door open with his boot heel. "After you, Miss Valentine, please." 

Feeling somewhat more secure she took two steps into what was actually a hallway, her footsteps striking a flat, bass sound on industrial metal flooring. She felt Raphael's arm come up around her back and brush her shoulder. She gave a nervous jump, and he chuckled. Damn him. Did he laugh at _everything_? Faye's cheeks flushed a pale crimson and her eyes narrowed in disgust. A plastic thump was followed by bright fluorescent lighting further down. Raphael once again took the lead as she followed him to a staircase that appeared to lead far down under the adobe structure. 

How long had it been nothing but lights and stairs and concrete and those broad shoulders in that tight white shirt? Faye had since noticed that his thick, crow black hair reached all the way to the middle of his back. She had already decided that he wasn't her type. Then again, most men weren't. That didn't stop her from appreciating the sights though, did it? Stifling a yawn, Faye rocked back on her heels as they stopped on a landing possibly six _(or had it been five?)_ floors from the hallway where they had first started. The door was impossibly complex looking and seemed almost a paradox considering where they had walked here from. An Encrypchip key card scanner was placed to the left, with what looked like a well used Printmatch/Voxmatch combination set on the right. Faye furrowed her brow briefly, scowling. _"This is some setup. I wonder just what all he's got in here?"_ she mused to herself. 

Raphael fished around in the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a card with his left hand. He placed his right hand in the slight indentations on the Printmatch reader and swiped the key card through the scanner on his left as he simultaneously spoke a phrase into the door speaker. A series of beeps ensured the machines were working, then two green lights - one from each machine - showed that indeed he had permission to pass into the area beyond. Removing his hand from the plate and tucking the card back in his front pocket he turned to Faye and beckoned her to follow. Faye trailed his footsteps to the chamber inside. 

Her jaw dropped involuntarily as her eyes widened and her pupils dilated. 


	2. Chapter Two

As before, I claim no ownership of Cowboy Bebop. The story and the character of Juan Raphael are my own. 

What was this, some sort of joke? _With all the security around the door,_ Faye scoffed inwardly, _you would have thought there was _something_ in here worth stealing!_ Unbelievable that something like this would have been built here, Faye's eyes roamed the interior of the chamber. It was huge, and appeared to be divided irregularly, without much thought to how things were arranged. To her immediate left, there were scores of what appeared to be _books_. 

"Welcome to Vault 3," Raphael said as he headed towards one of the enclaves in the right side of the building. "This is one of several structures built years ago, when the Earth still feared nuclear destruction. They were placed at various locals around the world, used as repositories for knowledge. The locations were not made public, even after the gate disaster. Approximately forty years ago two of the Vaults were reconstructed off-planet to accommodate humanity's flight to other worlds. The Vault project was originally a co-op between international universities to insure that even if we destroyed ourselves, our history would stand. From such altruistic beginnings we have become information brokers, seeking to catalogue and sell the knowledge we once tried to protect." 

Faye observed how Raphael's shoulders slumped as he discussed what the Vaults had become. It made him smaller, aged, weary. For some knowledge was driving, near physical passion. Perhaps she had underestimated him? Or did he simply _want_ her to underestimate him? _"Altruism, indeed_," she thought, "_we shall see._" 

Raphael turned to face a pair of threadbare chairs that had possibly been gray when purchased, or just aged with grime. Nearby an array of computers, monitors, and printers scattered across several tables and connected with scores of wiring that would have made Viktor Frankenstein proud. He motioned casually for Faye to take a seat as he eased his own frame into the opposite chair. 

"So how did you become involved here?" Faye turned to face Raphael, which silhouetted his profile against a flatscreen monitor mounted on the opposing wall. His posture straightened, and Faye recognized a smile of nostalgia playing at his lips. 

"I was raised in one of Jupiter's smaller colonies, and went to university on Ganymede. I majored in both Specialized Media Retention - the University's way of saying I knew how to properly restore books - and Earth History. I was working on a Doctoral Thesis dealing with a theory that Earth's history followed four distinct cycles in a pattern that could be traced back thousands of years. It was during my research that I was approached by a member of the Committee. They are the ones that oversee the Vault project. I was given the opportunity to lend my particular areas of expertise to a 'preservation project' stationed on Earth. I didn't want to abandon my Thesis research, but they pressed the urgency of the matter. My curiosity was my undoing." 

_"Sounds almost like being approached by a syndicate,"_ thought Faye. 

"When I arrived there were several major preservation projects that had been cut short due to lack of properly skilled people. Not many people do what I do anymore. I was placed as head of Vault Restoration, which insures manuscripts and other media are properly stored, catalogued, and repaired when necessary. Contact with actual Vault materials by any outside people are rare, but even among ourselves, things still occur that required my attention. I had a secondary position as the assistant to Vault Research, which handled all the inquiries for information and research. When the Director of Vault 3 retired some years later, I was chosen to replace him. This place..." he drifted, "has become my mistress, my teacher. There is so much to know and few years given to know it." 

Faye nodded politely, silently wishing he'd only give pertinent information. She hadn't come here for tea. "So when did you meet Jet?" 

"I had just started work here, when the ISSP contacted the Ganymede Vault for assistance. It was a rather large project, so the work was spread among four of the Vault's research departments. Each department was given specific contact personnel. Ours was Jet Black. Vault information is never transmitted via interceptable and traceable communication, so we required a human liaison. He struck me as a very serious and fair man. I dealt with him frequently. It was a surprise to hear from him after all these years. I did not realize he had left the ISSP." 

Verbosity just wasn't Raphael's style apparently. If he was going to constantly go on like this, Faye could say _au revoir_ to the woolongs. She hoped that he'd get straight to facts when they got around to the business of things. He inclined his head slightly to the right as stray strands of hair fell across his left cheek. After a pause he inquired, "So how did you end up partnering with Mr. Black?" 

Faye struggled to find a way to put the story in a good light. She decided there wasn't one, and launched into the spin doctored version. "I actually met Jet's _other_ partner first. I was working undercover at a casino, when Spike and I had a..." she shrugged slightly, as if searching for the proper word, "run-in. I helped them out of a situation involving a misunderstanding with casino security, and managed to get them back to their ship. I met them entirely by accident a _bit_ later, and we eventually agreed that working together might be mutually beneficial for all of us." Her facial muscles felt strained as she tried to hold the smile on her face long enough to be convincing. 

"It is good to know that Mr. Black has found reliable help. He deals very straightforwardly with people, it seems." 

Faye shifted uncomfortably in her seat, thinking of just how fast those thirty million woolongs from the casino had been spent. Her eyes briefly met Raphael's and she hoped he couldn't read thoughts. Taking a deep breath she asked, "So, what kind of information have you been able to get for us?" 

"It seems you've got a ghost on your hands. We've done quite a lot of searching. It's not that we haven't found matching information, but... it's ridiculous really. Nothing seems to be current. We've encountered dead ends that stretch back two hundred years up to the last fifty. Most shocking of all seems to be that most of what matches leads to Earth. That's primarily why we requested someone come here." 

"What do you mean _ghost_?" asked Faye. 

"He has no definitive style. Most sociopaths have very specific methods... a _modus operandi_. Some pattern that makes them unique. We've not been able to identify _him_, but we think we've figured out what he's up to. Take for instance the first set of Ganymede murders..." 

"What about them?" 

"Here, look," Raphael stood up and went to a nearby terminal. Faye stood and positioned herself to the side. "The first five murders that we've attributed to him are copycat works. What I mean by that is while the time and location has changed, he's recreated the work of Jack the Ripper, the Earth Victorian Era killer. He's not working off solid facts, but rather off popular belief. They obviously lacked many of the forensic skills we take for granted today, but there may have been as few as four, or as many as nine, victims that were actually the work of this unknown murderer." 

Faye faced the monitor where gruesome photos of the Ganymede killings and corroborating details to the 1888 murders flashed in a sickening slide show. She unconsciously moved one hand to her stomach and the other to her mouth, and turned away - unable to look. "_Oh god_," she murmured. Raphael took her arm and she leaned into him for support. Images of bruised and slit throats, mutilated bodies, gaping wounds, and the stare of corpses ran wild through her mind. She couldn't do this, it was all too much. 


End file.
